


Hang my head, drown my fear

by Nebbles



Category: The Legend of Zelda, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Gen, isn't it, the dark link fight is a fun thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-01 21:42:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14529804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebbles/pseuds/Nebbles
Summary: The Goddesses are cruel, Link muses, as the tip of the darkened blade is inches from his face.





	Hang my head, drown my fear

When Link steps into an eerily empty room of the temple, for a moment, his guard falters as the Master Sword sinks back into its scabbard. Water splashes around his feet, yet they never sink, and the sound of water uncomfortably echoes around him. He peers down, and his reflection looks back at him. 

A temple of water, and yet the only room he’s seen his reflection in. Curious. He leans down to skirt his fingers across the floor, and the feeling of ice shoots up his hand. It’s colder than he’s ever known. Yet, the water isn’t deep. It isn’t shallow either. It’s as if he’s standing on a mirror of ice, but still, he hears the sloshing of water with every step he takes. For a few moments, he follows his own eyes as he explores the room. There’s nothing in any direction he looks in - a blank expanse, swallowed up by a thick fog. 

The door he has entered through doesn’t seem to exist anymore. He looks back, and an empty vastness surrounds him. Link wonders if he’s still in the Water Temple. This room is so different, disconnected from reality, a place Link isn’t sure actually exists.

His eyes hone in on a single dead tree in the middle - well, what he perceives to be the middle - of the room, on a small patch of land. The echo of footsteps follow as he approaches, his fingers tracing over the rotted bark. It reminds him of the stench of rot that hung in the air in Kokiri Forest, after the monsters had taken their place in his home.

Old home, he tells himself. He supposes he really doesn’t have a home now. 

Not wanting those thoughts to take root once more, Link shakes them off and walks past the tree. 

And then, he stops hearing his footsteps. A shift in tension occurs. He feels two eyes bore into his back. Chills course through his veins, and it’s a deeper chill than the damp tunic clinging to his body. His skin feels as though a thin layer of ice has encased him. Turning around is the only option left for him, lest he remain frozen in fear forever.

Two red eyes stare back from a black figure whose body resembles his own. A shadowed version of his sword and shield decorate his side, and the sword fixes itself in Link’s direction. Instinct dictates his own blade be thrust forward as well. They stare at each other in silence, until Link calls out to the figure before him.

“Who are you?”

He doesn’t expect an answer - shadows can’t speak. Yet he asks anyway, even if this thing before him has no mouth. The only features he can see are those pair of eyes. 

_‘I am you, of course.’_

The Master Sword almost slips from his fingers as he stares, awestruck. The figure resembles him, yet the idea of facing himself in combat is a foreign concept. More so, Link is confused by the fact it’s possible to fight himself. And why here, of all places? What made this place the perfect combat grounds?

“...But why are you here?” It’s not often words come before a fight, and Link tightens his hold on the Master Sword. He bids a silent prayer to the Goddesses.

_‘I am here because I am your reflection. The moment you entered this room, I was able to separate myself from your conscience. I am the you that you wish to ignore, to repress.’_

That doesn’t make sense to him - at least, that’s what he wishes to believe. There were parts of his mind that tug in other directions - ugly trains of thoughts that feed him ideas he wishes would stay dormant. The concept of these thoughts made into something tangible twists his heart painfully. 

_‘You are an agent of the Goddesses, courageous and true, yet doubt seizes your heart. You wonder if all this loss is worth it all.’_

“I’m here to protect Hyrule. There’s nothing I doubt,” Link steadies himself, “there’s nothing I’ve lost.”

_‘Saria? Your home? You’ve lost plenty.’_

Saria. The name is not lost on Link, and he still keeps her ocarina close to his heart. He misses her dearly, but also knows her duty is to protect Hyrule while remaining in the Sacred Realm. He’s already accepted he’s dead to Kokiri, however. His name is nothing more than a whisper, and few even care to acknowledge his existence. He’s dead to them, as far as he’s concerned. 

It hurts. 

Link raises his sword, and lunges for the apparition before him. It mimics his strokes perfectly, steel clashing as the dark blade meets his own. No matter what approach he takes, it echoes back, and he stumbles. 

“How are you copying me?” Link’s breaths are ragged, but he wants this shadow gone. He doesn’t want to listen to it.

_‘I told you. I am you. You are facing yourself.’_

“I don’t believe you. Whatever you are… I don’t know how you know Saria, but you need to stop talking,” he raises his sword again, “and I need to defeat you.”

He’s arguing with himself, whether he wants to believe it or not. It’s rather ridiculous to look at something that resembles you, in appearance and tone, and dismiss its relation. Link knows he can’t deny this much longer, the more their swords clash, the more its words seep into Link’s bones.

When he finally gets a hit in, the figure melts into the floor. There’s little time for Link to react as a sudden, sharp pain greets his side as the darkened blade - he refuses to acknowledge this bastardization of the Master Sword - cuts through cloth and skin. The gash on his side causes Link to hiss and grit his teeth, but he does not scream. He feels the chill worsen, and looks behind him to see those red eyes gazing at him once more.

_‘Your fighting skills are excellent; of course, yet there’s always a crack in the foundation. And you equate your self-worth to how well you swing a sword. If you don’t have that, what are you?’_

He doesn’t satisfy his shadow with an answer. He swings his sword again, hoping to land another hit. The blow is deflected once more, and warm blood plasters itself to Link’s side as he’s pushed to the ground. He’s worth more than a sword. He’s not a puppet that was sent to Hyrule to dispel evil. Link tells himself this, yet he wonders how true those statements are. Attempts at forging personal ties always fell apart, and his time in Hyrule feels cyclical. 

Perhaps it is a side effect of time travel. Time is cruel to him, trapping him between child and adult. As a child, he has his friends and a comfortable place to rest at night. Seven years seems to make all the difference, where friendships were nothing but a concept, and rest fell to wherever seemed safe. He often sleeps under a blanket of stars, waking up to the smell of wet grass, dew soaking into his clothes.

Does he miss his warm bed? Perhaps. Safety is a natural desire to have, and Link admits it’s not something he has anymore. From the second he left Kokiri Forest, his life was in the hands of the Goddesses. Perhaps his life was never his own. Perhaps from the moment he was born, his destiny was laid out in stone, binding him to his fate. 

The Goddesses are cruel, Link muses, as the tip of the darkened blade is inches from his face.

_‘What will you do, after you save Hyrule? Where will you go? There’s nowhere left.’_

Despite what Link may think about the Goddesses, he cannot deny the Master Sword is there, and at least protects him from harm. A mighty blade meant to dispel evil, it is, and Link hopes that rings true as he thrusts it at the figure before him. Another blow is struck, and it bleeds into the floor below. Link steadies himself, sword in hand, trying to block out the words that swirl around in his mind.

No one wants to admit they’re alone in the world. Deep down, he realizes this to be true. Whatever ties from his childhood has vanished. His friends aren’t of this realm anymore. He feels so detached, only tethered to this earth by the will of someone else. 

He really is lonely, and comes to this realization as another shock of pain bursts through his thigh. He’s struck again. The wound isn’t terribly deep, yet it burns beyond measure. Link still stands, inhaling through his nose in an attempt to ignore the pain. He doesn’t want to lose. He refuses to. He cannot. 

His leg shrieks in pain as he lunges forward. The shadow effortlessly glides away from his stroke. Link pivots, turning on his heel as he swings again. His slashes seem more desperate, wanting for this battle to be over and for these thoughts to return to the corners of his mind. If he can bury them once more, perhaps he can return to mindlessly traveling throughout Hyrule. He can perform his role that the Goddesses so kindly asked of him.

_‘You just want this all to end, don’t you? You’re not satisfied with your role in life.’_

The words travel past him, past the Master Sword, as it plunges itself into the shadow’s torso. It doesn’t let out a sound of pain, and its soulless eyes stare directly into Link’s. He twists the sword, digging it in further. Still no sound. Instead, the figure melts and pours over the steel into the ground below.

Link looks around him in a panic, sword thrust in several directions as he awaits for the figure’s return. 

It shambles back into some semblance of its former shape. Parts of shadow ooze onto the floor, and Link sees them melt away. It unnerves him as it takes a step closer, sword arm raised. There’s still a fight to be had, it seems. 

‘You are terribly lonely. You don’t wish to be, but there is nothing you can do about it. If you could, you’d forsake your role for a fleeting sense of happiness.’ 

Link knows he’s not happy. He knows he’s had to seal off his emotions with how often he skirts between past and future. It’s all part of being a hero, he thinks. A courageous hero, so selfless, ignoring his own plights to ease the problems of others. Regrets don’t drag him down, and he doesn’t hate that he is to save Hyrule, and yet he sometimes wishes he was still a boy without a fairy. 

The shadow’s blade drifts towards Link’s heart, pausing. There’s no words coming from it, but Link knows well enough where the implication lies.

Death’s embrace is something he refuses to accept. A hero does not toss his life away in the face of adversity, and to do so here would be cowardly. Despite the disdain he carries, despite the aching in his heart, Link knows he must live. 

With his other hand, Link shoves the darkened blade aside and thrusts his own forward. It strikes the figure in the chest - the irony of it all - and its sword arm lowers. The red eyes pierce into Link’s soul as the figure begins to slow fade from existence. Its sword and shield melt into thin air. As the rest of the form follows suit, the last thing Link feels is that haunting gaze.

Like magic, the room’s shape warps back into the familiar sights of the Water Temple. The deep blue walls surround him, and water brushes against his boots. His feet sink this time. There’s no signs of conflict, no signs of another presence in the room, and Link wonders if it were all an illusion. 

He looks down at the shallow water before him, and there is no reflection that looks back.


End file.
